What Are We Here For?
by StormyTitan7
Summary: Operation Mi'ihen, and all of it's horrors, witnessed by an unexpected duo that never bothered to tell their story. (Logos and Ormi POV's) Oneshot-Rewrite. Rated T for dramatic violent things. R&R "-I'm tired of listening to him. I'm tired of listening to all of them. I don' like waiting for the time when it's youse or me that's gonna be nothing but a bunch of pyreflies, Logos..."


**~By Stormytitan**

**A/N: A rewrite of an earlier fic, and as the summary says outright, it's Operation Mi'ihen from the perspectives of none other than...bum-ba-bum-! Ormi and Logos! **

**I don't actually believe the two boys were there, honestly, but man… Wouldn't it be so freaking cool if they were?! **

**And as a side-note, (and if ya didn't know) I made up their last names ;P Deal with it.**

* * *

At the innermost point in the cove, soldiers bustled about preparing for the momentous operation. One that would certainly go down in history, and they apart of it.

Chocobo Knights led their mounts besides the many rounded peaks and edges, staying flush against the ruddy cliffs until the time was right. Above and all along the cove, Crusaders saw to numerous arrangements of guns and cannons, to which they were only remotely familiar with at this point, and raised tents for their officers and other important men that had joined in them in the effort of this mission. Al Bhed intermittently showed up between those mentioned, to occasionally instruct those handling the commodities they had brought, before scurrying back to their own people to talk in quick, breathless pieces in their native tongue. Official looking men waltzed between them all, seeing to it that all this was done exactly so.

Just joining the already motley arrangement of people, a mixed-matched group as some would call it curiously made their way among the different knots of people atop the rising red-faced ridge. They had no exact business with the many purposeful men and woman walking around. However, they stayed and observed the going-on's and asked questions. In the lead and center, a young girl with one green, and one blue eye.

Almost directly below on the beach, another group, or more properly said duo, also did not particularly belong to the said business hustling around them and thus, stuck out. They did not have yellow feathered mounts to lead, thank goodness, and weren't there to operate any of the heavy machinery. They weren't assigned to move crates or raise tents, and by appearances, did not have the rank to order others to do so.

In fact, their uniform, or better said armor, projected them further from the crowd as it was not a Crusader's uniform, but the most lowly of Bevellian guardsman. And as was also indicated by their 'strange' appearance, they were most obviously not Al Bhed and had no business instructing other people about the odd machines, which they had no clue then the next man how to operate.

Instead, they stood by idly, if not awkwardly, as a great many others rushed past their spot on the curve of the cove. They themselves asked no questions, and were asked none, and it suited the two just fine. Their jobs weren't to come until later anyways.

The two men were the complete opposite in shape and size. The first man, standing erect with a narrow head lifted high from his wide shoulders, was mostly made of flat planes and quick and subtle curves in-between. He was tall, incredibly skinny, and his posture stiff. In contrast, the other man hunching over in the sand was all slow, heavy, and weaving curves, the only flat part of him perhaps being his forehead, which was glistening with nervous sweat at the moment. He was short, wide, and he held his head up with a sort of slouch.

The slender figure of a man sniffed, displeased at something, before shifting his dusky hues to the corner of his pinched and slanted eyes to glare hard at the hulky form bent down in the sand beside him.

"Ormi…" Logos testily drew out the name, the eyes he focused on him contracting into dangerous and narrow slits.

The man he addressed did not move. He still sat crouched in the dull-colored sand, one hand on his recorder, cradling the delicate piece of equipment gently, while the other cupped the device and positioned his fat thumb over the 'play' button once more.

Ormi's dense, black eyes were glued to the little screen, plump mouth a tight line, as the ghostly wails of pyreflies rose from the reduced volume of the instrument and his own voice commented from the gadget's speakers slowly, 'what a mess…'

"Ormi!" Logos shouted a bit louder before he kicked sand toward his partner who continued to watch the sphere and ignore him all together.

However, with the sharp grains hitting his nervously sweating neck, sticking uncomfortably, or falling down into his tucked in-uniform shirt, it was hard to not finally acknowledge the tall man scowling behind him. And, as Ormi's opaque eyes fell onto his recorder for a split second, he saw it had flecks of grit clinging to it.

Ormi scrunched his round, tanned face up and instantly turned to yell at his friend at the sight of his camera, "Hey's!"

Logos set his shoulders back, his arms crossing firmly under his chest, and dug one booted toe into the beach, in case another sandy assault was necessary if Ormi refused to listen to his repeated warning-

"If you watch that damned sphere one more time-!" He started.

Ormi's hands was busy fumbling with the recorder at this point, gently wiping at the grains that stuck to the crevices of the machine, "If youse ruin's my recorder Logos- These things are sensitive, ya know? They's can't get dirty or wet, or-!"

The irritation at being interrupted was enough for Logos to send another toeful of beach into the back of his partner's blubbering head and again, over his shoulder and towards his precious contraption he was charged with operating.

"HEY'S!"

Ormi turned angrily, his small dark eyes narrowed, before his recorder started to fritz. Small blue sparks erupted from it and shocked his hands with little mean bites of pain. He jumped to his feet, dancing with it, and sputtered, "Uh! Ah! Ow! Hot!"

With quickly burning fingers, he ejected the glowing, mostly orange and red sphere from the device before it was damaged, and promptly dropped the malfunctioning recorder to the sand afterward. As it laid on the ground with it's inner gears failing, Ormi's mouth pulled downwards, and ever more so as it finally died with a spitting hiss of wires frying.

"Damnit!" Ormi swore before turning on his heavy heel to find his thin companion strolling along the length of the shore, casting an almost carefree air in his wake with hands folded behind his back. Ormi lowered his brows towards his angrily flashing eyes and called, "Hey! Come back here, youse-!"

He hurtled himself forward and through the sand, his sight fixed on the drably olive-green clad back, before grabbing a fistful of Logos's uniform, then, without warning or hesitation on his part, threw him over his shoulder and to the ground. His gunman partner, taken by surprise, only managed to catch himself halfway and landed on his rear in an explosion of tiny, whitish particles.

"You son of a-!" Logos snarled and leaped back to his feet to have a grab at the fat throat that he couldn't even wrap both hands around anyways, trying to momentarily choke his companion for the humiliation that the other soldiers around them were heartily laughing at, stopping in their work.

Ormi retaliated by grabbing his partner by his wide shoulders, to push and shake him every time a particularly painful pinch came to his neck. They continued to grapple, throwing out some aimless insults, before a sharp voice cut through the air and stilled the both of them.

"What's this, then?!"

Laughing ceased, a moment of still silence passing, before the other soldiers once again ensued in going about their business; moving crates around and into place, dodging squawking armored Chocobos, readying weapons, and quiet as the grave as they contemplated the upcoming mission. The only two that remained as they were, with nothing to resort back to, were none other than the two that started the interruption of the much needed preparations.

The Captain, as was easily seen by his authoritative voice and posture, a displeased look slapped over his frigid face, and a stare that kept them in place as well as forbade them from moving until the reprimand was over, glowered at them from his firm position on the dismal grey beach.

He stepped closer, a contemptuous glare accompanying him, and hunched his shoulders forward as he agitatedly seethed with a sarcastic tone of surprise, "Oh, of course it's you two."

Ormi and Logos quickly released each other and stood at attention, their forearms crossing over their chests, with fists tightly clenched.

The man did not seem impressed or dissuaded as he vacantly asked, "Where are your recorders?"

Ormi gulped, nervously shifting in the sand, before Logos lowered his squinty gaze to the numerous grains that rose to meet him and his guilt. Neither of them answered.

With more force behind his voice, the captain repeated, "Where are your recorders?"

"I have the sphere, sir," Logos tried to ease the tension and confirmed his statement by pulling an orange, shimmering sphere with a deep crimson center from the leather box-case attached to his belt, before quietly gulping at the lethal gaze shot his way.

"That isn't what I asked, Trenraka, now was it? I asked, where are your bloody recorders?" The Captain's top lip lifted in a sneer, and before either two of the men could reply with anything more, he slowly growled, like a fuse slowly reaching for the powder keg, "I know where they are…"

He produced a broken sand-covered piece of metal from behind him and threw it into Ormi's quickly fumbling hands, his wide chubby features shame-faced as the Captain yelled and pointed accusingly, "Is _**this**_ how a proper Yevon recorder treats his equipment, Mydo!?"

As if on cue, and unfortunately adding to his problem, a delicate piece of something snapped loudly from the mechanism he cradled gently as a child, and fell to his feet. Ormi straightened his back, his bare throat showing his difficult swallowed breath before he stuttered dumbly, "N-no, sir."

"Then do enlighten me as to why you have let it fall into this condition?" The finger that was thrust towards him jabbed into his flabby chest, not really questioning so much as pointing down judgment toward the poor buffoon, who was smart enough to see it as such and remained silent. It was pointless to try and speak.

"Sir," Logos's drawling voice started, "You have to understand that I was the one who-."

"You'll speak when you are addressed, soldier!" The Captain bit harshly and Logos shut his mouth with a lifting of his chest and chin in an quick inhale of breath. His eyes slid in the narrow opening of his eyelids to peer at his stout companion, who offered a forgiving, 'at least you tried' look and the very lightest half-hearted shrug.

"But, while we're on that subject," The Captain smoothly rolled his words off of his tongue, catching the gunner's attention once more, "Where did you say your recorder was, Trenraka?"

"I, erm, left it on a crate sir…"

"Left it on a crate," The man mocked him by thrusting the words back in a nasally slur that was a pitch too high for even a proper imitation of Logos's voice, but clear enough in what he was trying to accomplish and succeeding at that.

Logos's heated face contorted in a repressed sneer, forming a deep scowl and pinched eyes as the man continued, in his normal voice, "Left it on some damp crate where it could be dropped into the sand, carelessly stomped on, or destroyed in many other possible ways, is that what I heard?"

Logos focused his eyes on the man's face as the Captain produced another camera, his camera, which by all appearances was still in working condition. But, it was plain enough that the captain was still displeased as he waved the device through the air slowly and added sardonically, "One would think that you'd take care of something that has more worth than your own useless life."

Logos worked his mouth, clearly forming an insult, before he got bumped in his arm by his partner who shook his head warningly as he glanced again at him. Logos bowed his head, his face red and eyes glittery with hate.

"Yes sir." He replied, deadpan.

"It seems you don't care though," The Captain refused to let the issue lay as it was, "I know you are not usually a recorder, Trenraka; your shoddy spheres speaks well enough of that. Nonetheless, you are to take care of this, do you understand?"

"Yes sir." He replied again, unsmiling and his eyes rising to glare defiantly. It only dimly showed the silently livid spirit underneath, which was as far as he'd allow himself to push his luck.

"This is the only working recorder right now, thanks to your partner's blundering." Ormi ducked his head a little, as if wincing, as the Captain momentarily turned to him instead. The moment passed and the commander was glowering at his still-glaring partner once more, continuing in his lecture, "It is imperative that this operation is recorded properly, and so it shall be done by at least one of you idiots, do I make myself clear?!"

"Pellucidly."

The Captain shoved the recorder into Logos's stomach, hard enough to hurt a bit, but careful enough not to be the one to break the contraption. Logos's lean hands grasped the sharp little metal box disdainfully, his full lips finally parting into a teeth baring snarl, before the Captain gave one last bump to his freshly bruised abdomen for his insolence, then released the recorder into his grip.

As the Captain walked away from the two, he finished with a severe snap, "While most of the men are getting ready for perhaps the most important battle of our history, some men are just monkeying around! Pah! If there are any losses today, we pray full-heartily that it's only the _good_ men that pull out of this."

Ormi's head rose up defensively as the soldiers once again uniformly sniggered at their expense, despite how cruel the jab really was. Meanwhile, Logos shot the men nearest a nasty threatening look, effectively silencing the majority into at least nervous chortles, before kicking the sand again and slurring under his breath, "Despicable cretin."

"We's ain't got no choice though…" Ormi said low in his throat, so no other but his trusty partner could hear, and rolled his shoulders, "Ya know?"

"Of course I know that!" Logos hissed, his hands tightening around the, for the moment, much hated gadget. His dusky hues lowered to his sand-speckled boots and he growled, "Does that mean I must tolerate this abuse for the rest of my miserable days?"

"Yeah, it does," Ormi replied, before heaving a great sigh. He dully stretched out his hand, his palms pointing up, "Ya might as well give's it to me, Logos. Youse know's youse can't take a recording worth crap…"

"Oh yes, I'm sure our untimely ends must be wonderful things to catch on sphere. Wouldn't want that to be missed on record, now would we?" Logos replied acidly, vicious sarcasm dripping from his words as he handed the recorder over with a careless fling of his arm.

Ormi offered a half-smile as he fit his meaty hand firmly into the camera's strap, "Now Logos, it ain't gonna be like that. I's mean- look at all this!"

Logos lifted his gaze from the dismal sands to the rounded cliffs above, machina out the ass lining the edges and young (way too young) men with guns standing ready beside. A cage had been erected dead-center atop the rocks, housing a horrid Sin Spawn especially created by the Crusaders for the event to serve as the bait for this supposedly ingenious plan. The monster was undoubtedly pissed as it rammed itself into the barrier keeping it captive. As his eyes then followed the line of the precipice to one side of the cove, he saw the rising Al Bhed invention, a giant towering weapon of sorts, waiting to be used upon the great fear of all Spira…Sin itself.

The last thing his eyes landed on, and with a specific purpose, was the cagey 'important' men overseeing the entire operation. Logos sneered.

"Oh yes," He drawled, his voice disheartening and eyes still looking at the thick frame of the conductor of the orchestra of doom, "All this for naught, you know…Only the High Summoners have been able to take Sin down, and its never been for good or even a long while. Even if we do manage to hurt that damn thing, it won't kill it, and we'll die or lose our minds for the effort."

"Don' try an' sound too hopeful there, pal," Ormi hooded his eyes and mumbled before making a open gesture with his hands, "Really! This stuff has got to work!"

"Who says so?" Logos replied snidely, his shoulders rising and falling heavily in a languid motion, "Nothing done outside of the Summoner's Aeons has barely even tickled it before now."

"Well, they's ain't never done this!" Ormi replied solidly, his hand gesturing to all the preparations around them again.

Logos rolled his eyes. Of course, to a complete simpleton as his partner was, the heavy gun-power, the men and women steadily and confidently working, radiating the same hope he desperately was, surely must've been moving if not motivating. But, Logos could see past all that to the bare, naked, and ugly truth. None of this could possibly work. It was just a pale, desperate, if not sloppy act of men.

Though Ormi was correct in saying that no one had ever tried this scale of operation to attack Sin before, but in Logos's humble opinion, it was because no one in the past had been as stupid as whoever first brought this plan up.

"True," Logos said without conviction, consenting to the lonely correct fact, and his eyes finally adjusted from the cliffs with his swiveling head to land out on the horizon, on the churning sea, and he sighed deeply, "However, that doesn't guarantee success, now does it?"

Ormi frowned at Logos's last words and put his hands on his hips, the recorder against his side as he did so, "Well, youse are the one that got us in this mess!"

Logos's stiff frame suddenly loosened and jolted, visibly shrinking a bit, as if a punch had thumped into him. The words stung, and he wasted no time in replying-

"Need you remind me?" Logos glared over his shoulder, before losing his gaze nervously over the sea again, the bright sun shining above it, "Damn it all, why'd I have to let that girl get away? It's all because I didn't actually shoot down that Crimson Squad girl when she took off, you know. This 'punishment' is only because _they _know we won't come back from all this, don't you see? They expect us to die!"

The gunner's head jerked up towards the cliffs once more, where above _they, _Kinoc and the rest of the pompous-faced commanders, were watching the final touches to everyone's death.

"Logos, if they's really think it wouldn't work, why would they's be here too and not all the ways back in Bevelle, where's its safe?" Ormi reasoned, and slapped Logos's back, hard enough that it nearly sent him face-first into the water, his boots splashing in the ebbing waves. With shaking shoulders from the force of the good-natured smack, the gunner flinched and moodily turned back around as Ormi beamed, "An' youse know I's didn't mean it like that. I's think it was the right thing in the end let'n that girl live an' all."

Logos rolled his eyes, his head turning to look back out towards the salty wind. He continued to stare out into the ends of the earth for some time, the water swelling and pulsing before his eyes, before he offered a small curl of his lip, "At least I have that in my favor before I die, hm?"

"Aw, Logos-"

"You two! What are you just standing around for?!" The Captain had made his rounds and was walking back down the length of the beach, coming back into their area. Logos and Ormi spun around before sputtering out-

"Erm, uhm-"

"Dwah…"

"Well, save it!" The captain firmly planted both feet into the sand, gray dismal clouds rolling in over his head as he pointed up to the giant Al Bhed gun-tower at the far end of the cove, "You'll do well to start heading up there now. Or did you forget why we are even dealing with you two for?"

Logos stiffened and barely caught himself in time to keep his eyes from rolling impudently.

"You'll record the final destruction of Sin from that perch. Unless you gentlemen really expect to take any decent footage from here on the beach?"

Logos and Ormi lowered their shoulders, in unison grumbling, "Yes sir…"

* * *

"Shoot me in the face…" Logos begged ruefully for perhaps the hundredth time since they had been posted inside the greatest Al Bhed weapon available on the dreary beach. Their only mission from Wen Kinoc was to simply put to sphere the momentous end of Sin. However, their arrival to the gun-tower was mistaken by both Al Bhed and the few Crusaders present as two more sets of hands to be put to work. Despite their protests, both Logos and Ormi were instructed to unload a cart that had been pulled close to the back entrance of the tower.

And apparently, 'no' was not an option.

To his earlier depressing and grim request, Ormi turned from looking out on the choppy water for a second to lift a brow in his direction, "Really, Logos?"

_This again_? Was threaded within the question in the way he asked it, earning an annoyed look from Logos which soon turned into a half sneer/half smirk in his direction.

"Or throw me into the ocean if that's the way you'd prefer to do it..."

Ormi groaned, not taking the plead seriously, as intended, and opted for rolling his eyes instead. He scooted large metal boxes with a loud, unpleasant screech over the equally metallic floors. Logos winced before carelessly dropping the much lighter box he had his hands to the ground in a shattering clatter.

"Ca-harful wih'th tha-hat!" A man sporting green-tinted goggles and a dirty face shouted at him for his mishandling of the delicate parts resting inside the box. The Al Bhed, though they often looked the same as far as the two Yevonites could tell, had been watching them carefully, if not fretfully, over the treatment of the cargo. He didn't speak outside of his native tongue very well, adding unnecessary syllables and slipping over certain words, making Logos cringe every time a direction was given. This time no different.

Logos grumbled again, incoherently. He absolutely detested being yelled at in broken Spirian by half-competent Al Bheds, which as it so happened repeatedly occurred as they helped move crates on the lower level of the gun-tower, giving him an excuse to fervently complain for the last half hour. Biting his tongue against the racist slur that pleaded to break loose, Logos wordlessly turned back to the exit and followed Ormi's plodding form out the door.

As his thin frame stepped back out into the gray world, he spared a quick glance above him, before sighing miserably.

The smudged sky appeared near ready to produce rain, though had yielded none yet, adding to his foul mood. To make matters worse, he noticed that Ormi, who had earlier optimistically predicted the wondrous outcome of, as the gunner personally saw it, hopeless operation, was now looking out into the dark blue-black sea almost as frequently and uneasily as he himself was checking.

Ormi hurriedly busied himself with the last crate and pushed past Logos to deposit it inside. With no more business standing out in the wind, the gunner turned once more and let himself in under the protection of the tower.

The Al Bheds, including the one that had been supervising them, journeyed farther into the tower, almost glad that they were moving away from the strange Yevonites that had been assigned to their personal domain.

The gunner crossed his arms as he set himself against the edge of a particularly tall crate, and sneered at the Al Bhed's rude, too quickly executed retreat. It wasn't like they were that odd!

Though, as he looked around and surveyed his surroundings for one thoughtful moment, he did notice that he and his partner were the only one in Bevellian uniform. At least, that is how it was at this spot on the cove, and for the most part, the whole beach as well. The operation had only been designed for Crusaders and the Al Bhed, due to the drastic measures taken in the endeavor to destroy Sin.

Logos sniffed, continuing to watch the people move far away from him. Most likely, if they did not all die, the officials and the other Measters would have a problem with all the machina-use, and there would be hell to pay for the Crusaders. But, that had little to do with him and his partner. The tinge of pity he might've been feeling evaporated.

Ormi finally dropped the last heavy box of screws on the metal flooring with a hard clang-thump. Logos tilted his chin to look at the sound, and as he did, he couldn't help but notice another tentative peering at the ocean from his robust partner, through the outward facing entrance at the face of the tower where most of the Al Bhed and a handful of Crusaders were gathering. Logos again sighed deeply.

"You know-" He drawled, drawing forth Ormi's attention again, "I happen to have something in case things go awry."

Ormi turned on his hulking weight, a somewhat confused and adorable hiding of hopefulness on his face as he let his arms cross, as if Logos was testing his patience. After a time, however, Logos remaining both quiet and slightly smug, Ormi truly lost a bit of his patience and the light hope was replaced with slight frustration. He leaned a bit forward and asked, clearly annoyed, "Well? Whut is it?"

Logos peered to either side of him, though Ormi knew just as much as he that no one was within hearing distance or would care to be that close to the low-level nameless two. Ormi waited somewhat patiently, a fat foot tapping a couple times as his friend made a show of shaking his wrist loosely and slowly reaching into the large front pouch off-set to the side of his belt.

His hand moved around, searching, a bump showing it's journey over the many contents inside, of which jostled and repositioned themselves accordingly to his touch. There was a loose jingling that was probably some gil gone astray from his purse somehow, a papery rasp that was probably his pack of smokes being brushed aside, and a chinking sound that was his lighter hitting something hard. Logos's hand moved over that item that produced the glassy clink.

With one more coy glance, the corner of the gunman's mouth upturned and he slipped his hand swiftly from the cover of his pouch. With one graceful flick of his wrist, a shining red object was tossed into the air and caught again in a smooth transition between space and gloved-hand. Logos held the item by its narrow neck, his slight smile unfading, and let it gently sway to and fro.

Ormi lifted a brow and focused his beady eyes on the label of the rather large vial in his friend's grasp that was apparently something to be glad for. His face opened up as he saw, in curly script, a black-as-night 'X' against the light brown paper wrapped around the clear vial, revealing the red liquid sloshing within the glass.

"Where's in the world didja buy that, Logos?!" Ormi exclaimed before quickly being hushed by his comrade, an almost peeved look on his lean features, but far too pleased at having received a proper reaction for that to fully be accomplished.

Logos tucked the vial back into the pouch and noncommittally rolled one of his shoulders, "You know it's far too expensive and rare for our measly pay, even if I did know where such items are available for sale…"

Ormi's brows lowered and a suspicious frown found its way through his chubby features, "So's how'd youse get it?"

"Oh, Ormi, all I'm saying is I didn't _buy _it." Logos shrugged a bit and stood up from the crate, straightening his uniform tunic with one hand to keep himself busy and hopefully casual, "Besides I'm pretty sure that no shop in all of Spira has a potion of this magnitude and concentration on its shelves."

Ormi wasn't fooled for a minute and put his hands on his wide hips, his mouth pursing downward, "How'd youse get it?"

"I came by it as many do…by chance, erm…luck if you will," Logos tried.

His round partner opened one eye a little bigger than the other, a brow slanting questioningly.

"Of course, being that it was luck, no gil was involved…"

His friend did not drop the suspicious airs for a minute, leaning forward in his earlier pose.

"Ormi, stop looking at me like that." Logos finally dropped any mindless chatter he was earlier planning on indulging in to veer the subject away from how he had acquired the item exactly, before his resolve visibly crumbled as Ormi continued to stare. Then, at his willpower's weakest moment, Ormi obliterated it completely by bluntly stating-

"Youse stole it, didn't ya?"

"_Stole _is such a nasty word," Logos angled his body away and moodily crossed his arms as he posted his vision out the massive archway facing the sea.

"Uh-huh…" Ormi drew out, a dull sound slipping from his tone.

"As if you're perfect," Logos shot back before defending, "I only…liberated the item from someone who would need it less than us, should either you or I be hurt. You could even say I was doing them a favor! It was so painfully plain in sight as it was. Any highway man on the way back to Bevelle would've had their sticky fingers all over it and pilfered it from that cart before they could blink! Why-! "

Realization dawned on Ormi's face, "Youse didn't?!" He blurted incredulously, interrupting, and partially by accident, lifted an accusing finger, "Youse stole from that supply cart heading back to Bevelle after that Crimson Squad exercise, didn' ya?"

A tension pressed into the silence that followed, but Ormi's wide face did not loosen its grip on the unbelieving and almost scared expression it held in place over his features. Logos squirmed a little, his mouth working, before he rolled his eyes and opened his lips in a frown.

"Oh, fine!" Logos growled, his arms unfolding themselves from his chest and lifting into the air in a motion of defeat, "Yes! I filched it from that damn cart. As if any poor sot stuck in that cave of-of-such _**Woe **_would require it now. It was only brought along for show anyways. You know as well as I that they had no intention of letting any Crimson-whoever use it."

"So's youse decided to just take it?" Ormi let his voice fall into a hoarse whisper, as their yelling at each other had attracted a few backwards glances from the Crusaders.

Logos replied snappishly, though also taking the hint and reducing his voice to a more private volume, "What of it?"

"All that stuff was paid for by Kinoc and his guys, ya know?!" Ormi appeared worried, even queasy, "Do youse know what youse jus' did by takin' that?"

Logos didn't seem at all concerned as he scoffed, "They would have even less need of it then the poor Crimson fellows we finished off…"

"That ain't the point!"

"No, it's exactly my point!" Logos hissed and put his hand to his pouch again, as if Ormi might try to take it in a fit of moral rightness that sometimes overcame him, mostly at the worst of times. Logos sighed, lowering his voice to a grumbling mumble, "Ormi. _We _need this, not them. They could afford to have many more prepared for them, _fresh_. So what if I pilfered one teensy vial? They'll most likely not even realize its absence from the other supplies that was crammed in there…"

"Aw, Logos," Ormi gave in a bit, but his sagging shoulders and mumbling was more than enough to voice his final opinion of it, "Youse really should stop temptin' Lady Luck like ya do…"

"She only fails me at times, and they're never very crucial," Logos pointed out and dared to remove his hand from the pouch. He rested it against his hip and attempted to check out the sea again past the various Crusaders. Surely they would be provoking the bait by now and having it call out to Sin?

_How much longer? _he thought anxiously, feeling as if a second hand was counting down the moments leading to his death, drawing it speedily closer.

"Well," Ormi himself drew closer before leaning against the sturdy crate right alongside his friend, "Youse shouldn't tempt her anyways. One day your luck is gonna run clean out…"

"Oh?" Logos lifted his chin and a thin black brow. Despite his feelings, he wouldn't let Ormi's worries on his evading Lady Luck's payback to bother him overmuch. He replied in his nasally carefully articulated voice, "And what is going to be the worst to happen then?"

The look his comrade gave him with a slow lifting of his head was answer enough. Logos couldn't really compete or continue his relaxed ruse with the face that the moron barely ever made in the first place, uncharacteristically grave, directed at him. As a natural response, he dropped his smirk into his usual face-set, though perhaps more subdued and grimmer, before coughing lightly in his fist.

At the end of his couple 'a-hems', Logos stretched his limbs and then neatly folded them back over his chest, where it was more comfortable for him. "Anyways," He took time in saying it, drawing out the syllables to promote a change in subject, before going on a bit more positively than he felt, "It shouldn't be long now…"

"Yep…" Ormi replied dully in return.

And so they waited.

* * *

It was impossible that they knew from their mostly blind spot against the crates, but at the same time, they both lifted their heads to look at each other with wide, dread-filled eyes. The air almost solidified in their lungs, making it hard to breath, and the atmosphere suddenly strained against their bodies, threatening to take their knees out from under them.

The prevailing winds of a coming storm had slackened tremendously, leaving an eerily quiet cove. And then, just as the tension was becoming the thickest, a gigantic roar erupted and echoed in the natural amphitheater of the cove. Logos flinched, his long arms raising to take hold of the rifle strapped to his back and pull it in front of him.

There was a shaking of the earth, and both him and Ormi once again locked eyes in a moment of realization.

Something, something bad, was happening.

Logos turned to where the sound of monstrous shrieking and the starting cries of battle were drifting over the still air and around the curve of the cliff-faces. His sharp eyes easily landed on the Sin Spawn, Gui, which had somehow freed itself from the confines of its electrified cage and rose to a terrifying height, small head poised to attack, atop the rounded cliffs.

Both men, in fact anybody occupying the beach too far away to act, watched, with mouths agape, as the terrible ugly creature hurtled itself toward the first people it laid inhuman eyes on. The small forms, too far away to be seen clearly, launched themselves in defense and to aid in bringing the bait back under control. Everyone's eyes were glued on the short battle that followed.

The monster was at last, swiftly brought down by a finishing blow, and it lowered it's head weakly to a defeated and submissive posture in its insect-like body.

It would seem that the fear wreaking havoc upon their nerves was unfounded, and the sudden spur of frightful flight that was held in check was even more ridiculous, but neither fear nor the instinct to run loosened its hold on either of them.

The tension, that should have dissolved by now, grew in strength to where it oozed from the very breath of air that touched the cove again. Logos felt his spine stiffen to a rigid, tingling line. The inner voice told him to run away again, and fast, but he found his feet fastened to the metal flooring as if they were bolted down as firmly as the support beams not far from him.

The only thing that broke his frozen state was the sudden burst of hulking motion to the side of him, which was, surprisingly, Ormi bounding away towards the great open mouth of the tower entrance that faced the sea.

"Ormi wait-!" Logos outstretched his lean hand to stop him, fear telling every inch of him to run away now, at this time, and drag his chubby friend along with him. Ormi didn't pay any mind to him, and Logos soon saw why, as his fat hand pumped a little by his side and showed the recorder tightly held by the strap.

It was time for their job to begin.

Logos, a moment's hesitation spent in his spot, soon found his way in front of the Crusaders gathered at the ocean-facing entrance to join his friend who already had the camera rolling over the frothy wild waters, and gloomy sky. On the horizon, the great beast, the collections of sins, the terrorizing monster-

**Sin.**

Ormi was frozen in place, still as a statue, but faithfully and mindlessly holding the recorder towards the giant behemoth of a creature on the vast skyline. He, and his friend beside him, blanched, horror etched into their features as a malevolent shadow stretched towards the cove, armed to the teeth for the fight ahead.

Ghastly black tendrils snaked through the water, permeating evil into the cove from the monster, and Ormi followed their path as they spread throughout the aggravated waters of the narrow inlet. The waves swelled, wrathful, and carried the dark shadows beneath the surface ever closer to the most inner beach.

The feathery mounts grew uneasy, squawking and fighting against the heedless hands of their riders. Then, an encouraging shout and order was given, as the men and woman alike braced themselves for the oncoming, surely devastating, attack.

The air that had left Logos and Ormi suddenly found them again and shot painfully down their throats as Sin rose from the water, its humongous head ugly and nearly shimmering in a dim, slimy aura. It unfurled itself to its formidable size, water falling from its rough battle-scarred sides, and a ghostly mist surrounded its bottom half that was still dipped into the ocean.

The order was given for the guns to be fired, and the repeating and earsplitting booms of warfare shook the cove into trembling. Ormi recorded the flight of the mean fiery balls careening and crackling over the turbulent waters and toward the massive target.

Many guns followed suit, from all sides of the cove, and the explosion of the horrid shell of the monster sent many scales into the water and swimming towards shore. The men that Logos and Ormi had only recently left on the beach lifted their arms and prepared themselves for the trouble the overgrown insects were set on bringing.

In an excited warbled cry, the Chocobo Knights flew toward the white-tipped waves that thrust the miniature monsters upon the land and started to attack them with a jubilant zeal that was rendered by the same hope that accompanied all operations to stop Sin, that this might be the very last.

Logos watched breathlessly as all the men, some of which he was sure he knew though he could not be certain from his spot so far away, slashed and hacked, and shot and beat down all the Sin Scales that scuttled onto the shallows. They never reached dry land as the men determinedly dove into the cold and mean sloshing waters to stop them there.

As the gun-fire stopped with the ammunition needing to be replenished, Sin rose in the water, its horrendous 'nose' lifting into the air. Its rough body suddenly smoothed down in a flicker of its remaining scales, and Ormi and Logos both hardened their stance against the rumbling of the earth all around them, their eyes fearfully witnessing the danger with an almost out of body observance, the fear gripping their mind so thoroughly as to not allow any translatable thought to advise their shivering bodies.

Sin bounced in the waves, a purplish-blue orb surrounding it as a shield. This is what the gun-tower was built to destroy.

The boys, though they did not turn to look and kept staring at the horrid beast, knew that the Al Bhed were frenziedly flying throughout the entire tower. Commands in the garbled language was echoing and soaring in and out of their ears. They remained standing still, the camera in Ormi's hand whirring as the air suddenly exploded in blinding flashes, and an arm of energy stretched from Sin's force-field.

It gathered power easily, in no time at all, and it shot in a massive ray of raw energy across the choppy surface of the cove and straight into the inlet. Ormi brought up his free hand to block his bleak eyes from the sight-stealing brightness of the attack, but Logos's eyes shot, out of his habit as a gunner, to the final destination of the fast flying projectile of entire city-wiping force.

The men that stabbed and beat down the Scales only had enough time to shout one syllable of their death-cries, before bursting into black particles, disintegrated into mere shadows of what they had been in the second of their demise. The shared howl of brief pain was quickly dashed to nothing by the silencing power of the blinding light, but it fell like a stone through Logos's ears and weighed down his chest.

He blinked his wide-open eyes, and found only scattered remains of forms heaped on the beach when he flashed them open again. All in the water was cleanly gone, a huge bulk of men, simply wiped out.

The protective orb around Sin shimmered, almost gleefully strong, and Logos felt his dry throat suck another desperate gasp of air into his painfully shivering lungs. More Al Bhed words flew all around him, their spiral-green eyes seeing the same end of the men upon the beach as he had. The importance and rush of the moment was amplified by their rapidly shouted orders and demands; the entire tower teeming with loud rushing footsteps, clomps up and down the metallic stairs, and relaying urgent messages in breathless hurry.

Ormi suddenly lowered the camera, his black pupils contracted and shaking in an expanse of white.

"Logos!" His cry made Logos jump near out of his skin and the gunner turned to him and the fear that lined his voice. He searched the waters, and saw the reason for Ormi's sudden jolt back into frantic, thinking motion.

Sin was turning from facing inside the cove to the threat that was targeting it next, like it sensed the animosity that rose from the tower, and was acting to destroy it before it could hurt it. Ormi was shaking in his spot, his great trunk-like knees shivering near together, before he gave his head a great shake and he locked eyes with Logos, shouting, "We's got to get out of here-NOW!"

He spun on his thick heel and plunged through the roves of Al Bheds and Crusaders, whom were lending their hands wherever it was needed, and made for the entrance that led back to the side beach. Logos started to follow, before the solider within him, however idiotic, stopped him in his tracks, "Ormi! We can't!"

The rumble of the gun charging shot down into the metal floors of the tower in a tremor of awesome capability. Logos's thin gaze widened at the power it promised, his general feel for guns telling him that it was incredible, before he lifted his eyes at Ormi, who had stopped when Logos did but was still itching to get away. It was evident by the constant and desperately repeated-

"Logos, le's go now! Come on, le's go!"

"Wait!" Logos held out his palm as the tremor in the gun tower grew more powerful, its charge growing in strength, "Ormi, you may be right after all!"

His face opened up in an excited smile, his thin frame turning in his heel toward the open mouth of gun-tower's front entrance. His eyes were extended over the few heartily praying and watching eyes of Crusaders that was already regrouping in front of it.

"Logos, no!" Ormi, despite his large mass, was at Logos's hastily traveling back in a second and grabbed a handful of olive-green uniform from his shoulder, "Logos, forget whut I's said! Im's wrong, it ain't gonna work, no way!"

His head was shaking so heavily that his cheeks shook with it. Logos pulled, a tight annoyed expression on his face, before he turned with a light scowl on his lips towards his partner, "Ormi, let go! Can't you see this thing has more power than either one of us realized? This blasted Al Bhed invention might actually work!"

"It'd ain't gonna work! Liz'zin tah me, it ain't gonna work!" Ormi tightened his grip on Logos as his friend attempted to pull away from him.

Swiftly changing tactics, Logos yelled over the drone of machina and the high ring of the gun-tower, "Ormi, we can't abandon our posts! Wen Kinoc himself told us to get this momentous occasion on sphere!"

Ormi's wide, serious eyes was enough to stop Logos short again. Ormi firmly shook his head again and darkly said, "I's ain't gonna record us dying, Logos."

Something big clanged into place and a beam from the top of the tower shot through the air and outward, toward the formidable shield of Sin. Ormi's insistent pull was still urging to retreat, but Logos held his ground and watched in hopeful awe, a rare face over his features. The beam met the shield with blasting force, and even Sin seemed hindered in its forward movement by the power of the persistent ray of light from the gun tower.

Crusaders and Al Bhed rushed past them and into the very edge of the frontward entrance, amazed gasps escaping their mouths as the ray actually battled with Sin and pushed against its before impenetrable shield. Logos looked over his shoulder, where the recorder bit down from the meaty hand that held it, and smirked into the wide face.

"See?" Logos snorted, and jerked his head forward, "You might want to get this on sphere Ormi, or it's our hides later."

"Im's worried about our hides now, Logos, le's go." Ormi pulled again and again on his shoulder, before Logos, finally annoyed, turned full on him and yelled-

"Ormi, now is no time to be a coward!"

Those words clearly bit cleanly, as intended, and the bubbly face scrunched up into a hard expression.

Logos spared a glance at the recorder, before snatching it and turning back to the spectacle of Sin bowing under the power of the gun and he raised his hand, which was shaking badly, and inexpertly started to capture the giant pulsing ray bending in the shield around Sin, the whole orb throbbing as if it was in pain, weakening.

Ormi watched him go with brows that was bent sharply upwards. His gut was screaming at him to run now, more than it had before, the instinct more sure in him. Logos was standing to his full height, recorder in hand, and tilted back to see over the heads of bodies and catch the bubble-shaped force field bending under the power of the gun-tower, the surface giving in under the point of contact, as if it was going to just simply pop.

Ormi lifted his mouth in a pursed frown, his brows set, and rushed forward to grab a handful of Logos's uniform in his balled fist. As he did earlier that day, he threw the gunner over his shoulder and tossed him hard to the ground.

Logos rolled head over heels, his helmet loosening from his head and clunking away from him in his journey over the floor. His short stringy hair was revealed and allowed a sharp bump to come to his head, which unhinged his grip on the strap of the recorder. It flew from his hand, and as he scrambled to catch it, he sent it farther away from him and it shattered into a thousands of delicate pieces. The bright sphere inside was shot out and it fell against the floor before the gunman could do anything and cracked in two.

Logos, nursing his sore backside and his eyes locked on the mess, stood quickly back to his feet and screamed angrily, "Ormi!"

"Logos-" Ormi's voice was forced through the frantic breaths his body was producing as the dreadful edge was creeping closer, like a Doom cast over him and his time numbered, "We's got to go's!"

His thick finger pointed shakily through the back entrance, away from the scene.

Logos rolled his eyes and scowled deeply, "Do you know what you just did, you big, utterly moronic-!"

"Logos!"

The cry was so sharp and scared, and the horrid sound behind him so loud, that they together stopped Logos mid-sentence and had him whirl around to see the horrific ending to the Operation.

Just as it was about to break thorough, the inward crest of the shield fought past the ray and sent another one of its own blinding flashes forward. Logos froze, he had seen what had happened to the men on the beach, and he knew he was dead.

The sword of light flew toward the gun and cut it clean from the tower, allowing it to slowly collapse into the structure it was built on. Screams, and cries of prayers of mercy in both Spirian and Al Bhed, flooded his hearing along with the death harbingering crashes of sharp and heavy metal and crackling flames. The gun fell deeper into the building, crushing the levels one at a time, until it was bearing all the weight of the upper floors onto the lower level which the two men stood.

Logos suddenly felt something yank him back, clean off his feet, and toss him towards the back entrance with the hoarse cry of "Run!"

He started to obey when he stopped and turned full around as the building finally started to finally rest on the lowest levels of the beach, and he screamed into the coming explosion, "Wait-! Ormi!"

The gun finally met the ground and the air was filled with the smell of blood, burnt flesh, and the sulfurous smell of the destroyed machina filling the empty places where the ringing cries of people being crushed to death did not.

The acrid, yellow smoke of the crumbled structure masked the debris that was thrown by him as Logos uselessly shielded himself with his arms crossed over his face.

Something hit him hard in the gut and he was swept from his feet again to finally land on his barely balanced heels, they skidding over the floors toward the outlying support beams of the old structure, where his body slammed into it to make him stop. A biting, fiery pain burst through his stomach and he screamed into the dusty, crackling world that surrounded him, "Ormi!"

Then, it went black…

* * *

When he finally came to, his entire body was wracked with all sorts of pain. Soreness and aches ran down his legs, majority of it in his back and shoulders, and the back part of his head which was heavy and wet with dark liquid that plastered his black hair to his scalp and the nape of his neck.

But above all that was the unbelievable pain in his abdomen.

His vision was too blurred to see anything at first. Naturally, he stared downward at his feet, for he was still somehow standing, and saw a dark outline of something jutting out in front of him. His hands, numbed with pain, wormed forward to his front to help him feel this strange shape in his incompetent vision, which swam with shadows.

Then, new sharp sparks of pain visited him and revitalized his sight. His eyes widened in horror just as his hands came to rest on the thin narrow beam that protruded from his lower torso, off to the side near his hip, and the cold unfeeling metal was slick with his hot, living blood.

His voice produced the most hoarse and terrified cry that he could've ever heard come from himself before the panicky thrash of the first initial shock of his wound left his head hanging weakly and his breath coming in short, biting gasps.

He was stabbed through, nailed to the support beam behind him-speared by this stray brace that flew to meet him from the final downfall of the hope he misplaced.

Logos attempted to push himself off of the grisly metal stake that pinned him into place, like a insect specimen under glass, before the pain became to great for him to bare and he slumped on his feet, unable to fully crumble down as his body commanded because of the sinful thing holding him upright.

_Ormi was right…should've run… _

He needed help…

"Ormi?" Logos let his eyes trail upwards, almost afraid that he'd find something more horrific than what he woke up to. Nothing gruesome met his eyes immediately, however, he knew that beneath all the rubble was a multitude of crushed bodies. Spirians, and Al Bheds laying together in the magnanimous and un-choosy arms of death. He just hoped with a wet swallow in his throat that Ormi was not amongst them somehow.

As he scanned the mess, it was doubtful. Though it was hard telling. His vision was blurring again, his head reeling, and dark shadows crept over his mind and eyes, threatening to consume him for all eternity. He clawed through consciousness, unwilling to give up just yet, and futilely searched with his failing eyes.

Try as he might, he couldn't resist forever. Before long, his eyelids grew heavier, his head continuing to bleed profusely down his back as his front did, staining his shirt and pants a dark red. To add to his woes, he could also swear he heard his precious heart beat slowly, and slower still.

_B-bump...B-bump...b..__._

Logos let his eyes close.

_bump...b-_

He suddenly couldn't feel anything, and his head dropped forward, hanging loosely from his neck. His fingers slipped from the beam, and his blood continued to drop from the tear in his body around the metal.

* * *

Ormi coughed, his head aching tremendously, before he pulled his shoulder out from where it was halfway folded under his body. Finding it bogged down with something heavy, he opened his eyes and turned his head to peer at the uneven blocks of stone that rested on his back, legs, and pressed against parts of his helmet.

In one roaring motion, Ormi knocked all that aside and threw the uncomfortably dented helmet away from his greasy, black locks and away from him. Rubbing his head, he felt down his arms and legs for injuries and found none immediately. His head was hurting of something bad though.

Breathing in a raspy breath, he lifted his even bleaker eyes to the destruction and devastation around him, his eyes grower dimmer because of it. He let out a slow sigh, one that rumbled in his great big chest, before he lifted his head and felt another throb of pain.

A trickle of blood made its way surely down the side of his wide head, a thick path marking from his sweating hairline to his chin. A glob of the dark blood gathered at end of his round face, before plopping loud into the dusty and wreaked metal floor.

"Logos?" He turned his head this way and that, trying to find him. He couldn't have been far from him, and he should've been right by that beam that was bent down under the weight of heavy stone. Or, at least, that is where Ormi last saw him as his friend turned to yell for him, right before the whole place really came down.

A sinking feeling found its way into his sizable gut and Ormi's dim eyes landed on the heavy weight pressing down the metal beam. Was he-?

"Logos!"

A sniveling sob escaped his thick throat before a croaking voice crackled in reply-

"Ormi?"

Ormi quickly stood and flew around on his heel, in all directions, trying to pin the source of the dry nasally voice that called to him. It didn't sound very much like Logos, yet it defiantly was, and he feared the worse.

He found him, and his fears were confirmed, as red met his eyes before anything else. As he pinned the source of the voice, he also found his friend pinned to a solid metal beam.

"Yevon!" Ormi flew towards him, his massive paws reaching towards him but afraid of touching him and making everything worse, so only hovered around him. Logos flinched at his approach, his pinkish stained teeth gritted together against the immense pain, before he offered a half-hearted smirk.

"About time you woke up, fool."

He himself had been sleeping on and off of course, knocked back into sweet oblivion time and time again, but he wouldn't mention that to the oaf who finally was here, and apparently fairly alright to help.

And in good time. Logos could've swore his heart might've stopped a time or two, but he was always brought back. Nothing short of a miracle, Logos thought sorely, though he'd prefer a miracle where he'd see himself safe in his bed and find this all a dream.

"Ah-no," Ormi moaned, and Logos shifted his eyes to the him again, dryly asking, "What is it?"

Ormi found that the pouch at Logos's side was ripped open, stabbed by the beam and skewered through into the part above Logos's hip. The only hope he had he saw shattered and spilling its precious contents to the bottom of the leather pouch. Some of it had found its way to Logos's wound, but not nearly enough to make a difference, and in any case the beam kept the wound fresh and open.

Ormi fished out the last remaining fragments of glass vial, a sad shred of paper hanging to it with a curly script 'X' prettily written onto it. He lifted his eyes from his palm to Logos's observing eyes.

"Well damnit," Logos gritted his teeth and let his head lean back against the beam, "There goes my chances of living through this…"

"Don' talk like that!" Ormi shouted loud enough to even give his aching head a turn. Much less Logos's, who upon his flight and crash-landing, made a small halo of crimson behind his uncovered head into the support beam that his back pressed against.

As they waited out the first throbs of pain in their heads, Logos's blood trickled onto the floor with sickening drops. Logos finally broke the painful silence with a shuddering, "You're probably right…the potion most likely as not saved me from death as it is. But, I'm still in danger of it if I don't get off of this damn thing now and plug up this hole."

Ormi nodded in agreement and screwed up his face. His big meaty hands found the brace and pulled back with all the strength in his hulky shoulders, it moved with a teeth-grinding screech of metal on metal, followed by a howl of pain from the mouth of his friend. Ormi stopped, startled, before promptly flinching at the wave of curses and abuse that issued forth from that same mouth.

"Warn me next time you fucking moron!-" Logos began to finish, his anger rising to a final high screaming pitch, "Damn it all, it hurts!"

Logos took in a raspy breath before leaning over the brace still stabbing him, gasping and exhausted, "This isn't going to work. I'll die if you try that again…"

And his statement seemed true enough, since the sliding of the brace through his torso eased a great splash of blood to slap into the metal flooring under his boots. Logos wheezed, bent over the beam and the puddle of his own dark blood, trying to find a manner of stability again, before he raised his head weakly, "Don't touch it. Pull me off of it instead-" He added swiftly. "Gently."

Ormi, a bit nervous-eyed, gradually approached closer and took a firm hold of his friend's wide shoulders. Hesitantly, he mumbled, "Y-youse sure?"

"As sure as I'm ever going to be…" Logos replied at some length before nodding his head once, "Hurry up and do it."

Ormi tensed, as his friend did, and began to slowly bring Logos forward. The gunner immediately screamed, small globs of curdled blood dropping thickly to the floor, and Ormi winced but continued to slide on his feet backwards, dragging his comrade forward through his own blood and off the beam.

Logos's drawn-out cries soon turned to harsh groans and growls, as the beam's sharp end finally disappeared into his stomach. His knees were shaking badly, and he grabbed a handful of Ormi's uniform to keep himself upright and as steady as possible as his friend gave one last tug, the sharp end pulling free of Logos's back, and leaned under the weight that suddenly collapsed into him.

Ormi managed to keep Logos standing up, though he was on bent and shaking knees and not using an ounce of his own strength. His voice, when he spoke after Logos let out a few ragged breaths against his shoulder, was traced with all the concern and leftover fear that was within him, "Buddy? Youse okay?"

"Help," Logos said quietly, almost where Ormi couldn't here it past his heavy breathing, and he closed his sharp, thin eyes. Dark oblivion was threatening to close in on him again.

"I's will," Ormi promised with a quick shake of his head and lowered Logos to lay out on the ground. The blood was an angry, evil red, staring up at him menacingly as Ormi rubbed at his head with a sweaty palm. Flinching greatly, he stared down at the dark smear in his hand and was reminded of his own wound. He looked back down to his friend, Logos's blood seeping and growing into a puddle beneath him again.

Rather hopelessly, Ormi asked the slowly breathing gunner, "What should I's do?"

"I don't know." Logos replied in a raspy whisper. His eyes were still closed and he leaned his head away from Ormi, almost looking as if he was about to drop off into sleep.

"Don' youse die yet," Ormi told him before wracking his aching head for something, anything. They didn't have any medical kits on them, they were only recorders, and potions weren't given to men of their low rank as regular supplies. And the X potion was soaked up at the bottom of Logos's pouch.

Firmly setting his shoulders, Ormi frowned and reached over to loosen the pouch from Logos's belt. Then, without hesitation, he dumped it's contents that hadn't fallen out of the torn hole already, and when empty, pressed the entire leather pouch into the red gaping hole.

Logos, who was barely moving and worryingly quiet just a moment before, jolted and flashed his eyes open, screaming, "OW!"

"Sorry," Ormi mumbled before squeezing the tough material to yield any of the precious fluid it withheld. A few pinkish drops trickled out, and Ormi watched in awe as the puncture wound visibly shimmered and grew smaller.

"That's some good stuff," Ormi said finally, to no one in particular as it seemed that his friend was too busy groaning and cursing under his breath to want to listen. It really was a shame they didn't have more, Ormi frowned, as he realized the pouch had no more X-potion to give, the rest of the stuff was wasted.

Logos, shaking badly, maneuvered his slender hand over his wound, an eye creaking open, and growled.

"It's still open."

"Yeah, well," Ormi looked around, his eyes flicking over their surroundings, "It got a little better and that's a lot tah hope for with jus' a few drops, right?"

"I'm not going to argue," Logos sighed, and shook his head tiredly, his eyes closing and Ormi noticed his face looked drawn and pale, "But, if you don't close it all the way I'm going to surely bleed out."

"Right…" Ormi looked down at his hands, holding the scrap of leather that was once a pouch and soaked in a different kind of liquid, a more richer red than an X potion. He still didn't have any supplies to help his friend. "Logos...I's ain't got nothing."

Logos drew a deep breath, effort etching over his features, "Think." He said on the exhale.

"I's don't know what to do!" Ormi near about wailed pathetically before he jerked his face to the side suddenly, his own hand smashing his cheek. Calming down from the force of his own slap, he took a few shuddery breaths, drowning out any thoughts of failure and losing his only friend…forever.

"Got tah close it up-Got tah close it up," Ormi chanted and started to tug his armor off. Wrapping it up wouldn't do any good, the cloth would just soon become soaked and Logos would continue to bleed. No, what he needed was some needle and thread, to close up the skin out right. But, that was also unavailable to him. Ormi continued his chant, pulling at the thick metal cable that was corded through the little holes in his armor to hold the steel plates together and in place, but still allowing flexibility.

With how wide his girth was, he figured he had plenty to work with.

At the tight knot of thick wire at the ends of the plates, he used his teeth as pliers and pried the pieces to uncurl and straighten out. Spitting out pink, from his slightly bleeding gums, Ormi finally had a long piece of cord in his hand and worked to the get another.

With two pieces of cord, he finally turned back to his friend, finishing his chant with one last, "Got tah close it up."

He pulled up on the back of Logos's shoulders to lift him and reach his armor, which was useless now, and tugged it off as quickly as he could. He wasted no time in removing his friend's uniform shirt too, and the inner shirt that the gunner went through the pains of bothering with.

The wound was clear to see now; a ragged line cutting up from Logo's hip to nearly his naval.

"Alright Logos," Ormi wiped at his head with the back of his hand, wincing again, before continuing to talk to the only half-conscious gunner, "This is probably going to hurt."

"Nuh?" Logos shifted at the cold air touching his exposed skin, his eyes slowly opening. He screwed them shut a second later, feeling a sharp prick and something pushing and wriggling through his skin, "-The fuck!?"

He almost sat up, using his elbow to push himself from the ground, but a flat thick palm pushed him back down, "Don' move. I'm fix'n it."

"Fixing what?!" Logos shook his head and blearily looked around him, his eyes foggy with pain. He was unable to see Ormi pushing the cord through his skin, and forcing it into the other edge of the wound, before bending the end back around in a stiff stitch. In fact, his whole vision was not worth anything at the moment and his mind was hazy.

"Buddy, I tol' youse not tah move." Ormi adjusted his hands again as Logos thrashed to the side from another painful yank in his skin, screaming. Ormi was trying to be as careful as possible, to cause the least amount of pain, but a confused Logos wasn't making the task easy.

Yelling over the noise of his partner, Ormi ordered, "Hold still!"

Logos, nearly recalling what had happened, flopped to the ground before shaking his head to clear it. That only made the pain sharper, however, and he took in a long hiss through his teeth, "Damn it all! What the hell are you doing?!"

"Closin' it up." Ormi brought the sharp end back around for another stitch, each shiny diagonal line on his friend's abdomen crossing over a ragged, thin bloody line. He pulled the skin closer, trying to keep the stitch straight as possible, but with little results. Each stitch of the cord went at a different angle than the last or the one after it, and was a grisly sight to see. But, when his work was done on the front side, the blood wasn't oozing out so much and the line was becoming crusty around the makeshift stitches.

"Logos," Ormi said softly, for his friend had been screaming rather vehemently as he worked and only quieted to moans and groans as he had come to a stop. A brief moment's rest was all he could allow before he said, "I's need's tah do the other side, ya know?"

Logos cracked opened a eye and growled, "I'd rather die."

"Don' be overdramatic," Ormi lifted up the second cord he tore from his armor up in his hand. Since the bleeding had slowed, Ormi didn't feel the press of imminent danger as much, but was still prepared to finish the job that needed to be done. His friend seemed less pleased about his, even if it was his life Ormi was trying to save, and stayed still, closing his eyes again. With all seriousness in his voice, Ormi told him, "Youse don' mean that."

A long sigh escaped through Logos's nose, "Maybe I don't," He said after some time.

"So then, move," Ormi commanded and then with a jerk of his round, wide chin, Ormi questioned, "Need help turn'n over?"

"Don't touch me more than needed, oaf," Logos bit, and with a lot more effort than was usual, flipped himself onto his side and gasped at the new, tight, painfully aching spot on his lower torso. He fervently cussed, and drug himself to lie on his stomach.

Much more awake than before, he dug his fingers around any bit of rocky debris within his reach and braced himself for more pain that he didn't have to wait long for to come. When Ormi finally pulled the last bit of wire into place, Logos swearing at him up and down about his slow work, the hulky warrior mumbled rather miserably, "Im's sorry, buddy."

"Oh, do stop blubbering." Logos's lean hand rose to cup his forehead, which was throbbing excruciatingly along with all other pains he had, "Just help me stand up and we'll go to a trained doctor…I'm not going to walk around with your fine 'needlework' any longer than I need to."

Despite his words, when Ormi got Logos to his feet, he wasn't going to walk anywhere, not with Ormi's so called 'needlework' or otherwise. His knees crumbled underneath him and he ended up falling back into Ormi's side as the latter let go of him. A rather unnerving groan escaped his sharp lips, and Ormi asked, concerned, "Youse okay?"

"Just fine," Logos growled sarcastically, though as he looked up again, his eyes had that sort of glazed over look to them. His voice lowered to a strained whisper as he said, "Just get me to a doctor…please."

"I's promise I will." Ormi took the gunner's other arm that wasn't gripping his wound and threw it over his heavy shoulders. When he took a firm step forward, however, Logos wasn't walking with him so much as being dragged. It wasn't so difficult to hold up all of Logos's weight with one arm, but it was awkward as the gunner's feet caught on the very uneven and fragment-strewn ground.

"Uh, Logos?" Ormi heaved up, adjusting his weight to accommodate Logos's deadweight body, "Little help?"

Logos wheezed in reply, "Shut up."

"That bad?" Ormi didn't need an answer to his question before he lifted his shoulders up and swooped in closer to Logos, the gunner jolting in return and yelling- "What the hel-?!"

Ormi put one arm right under the gunner's knees, his other arm holding Logos up by his shoulder continuing to do so, and straightened his back up with his partner in his arms. The gunner yelled, a weak fist smacking into his forehead, "Moron! Don't pick me up like I'm some damn woman!"

"There a better way youse can think of?" Ormi replied rather waspishly, his head hurting badly as Logos's knuckles thoughtlessly smashed into his head wound, "No, huh? Then shud' up!"

Logos flinched, a sneer on his face, before he rather stiffly said, "Fine! But we speak of this to no one!"

"Yeah, yeah," Ormi rolled his eyes and started to walk away from the wreckage of the Al Bhed weapon, slightly annoyed that the appearance of masculinity was still important to his otherwise dying friend. Then, his features loosening up in one great wave, he prayed silently to the lonely, dusk-tinged world that there was still someone out there to help his dying friend.

* * *

"Logos...izzat?" Ormi let his voice trail off as the many pyre flies swirled around them, dancing, before they rose above his head and floated away into the night, for it had fallen as the boys made horrible time across the long stretch of beach.

"Seems so," Logos replied dully, his hazy eyes on the glowing circles of light in his vision. Without thinking, he said dimly, "You know, that one guy that owes us money is probably somewhere up there." His thin eyes pointed to the starry sky, the pyreflies seemingly flying to join the many twinkling dots.

"Think so?" Ormi had stopped dead in his tracks, his bleak eyes unwavering from the faint, quivering tails of the souls and memories ascending into the Farplane. After a moment of silence had lapsed, he mumbled, " 'ey Logos?"

"What?"

"Youse think that one Crusader broad youse was hittin' on is up there too?"

"Probably," Logos answered, his voice devoid of emotion.

Then, in one great burst, the crumbled tower was alight with many pyre flies as well, two of which could've been them. The boys watched that in grim silence as the Summoner's dance surely came to an end, as the pyre flies dissipated into beyond.

Then out of nowhere," I's hate this."

"I agree," Logos nodded weakly, his breath still shuddery, and added to his answer to Ormi's statement, "More than ever, unsurprisingly."

"It's just like with them Crimson guys, they's let all this people die…Why? What for?"

"I've no clue," Logos let his eyes close as the night became a lot darker, the thick clouds blocking the moon, and the pyre flies unearthly light gone. Logos felt Ormi trudge again through the sand, and though he didn't mention it, he also noticed that his thick arms were sagging ever so slightly with his weight and his breath was quickening.

Ormi's voice continued to shoot out of the empty dark around them, heavy with his breath and just as quick.

"It jus' don' make any sense. Crusaders are Kinoc's guys jus' as much as them Crimson Squad people. Why would he let them die? How can he jus' stand there and let them die? Youse know's, I bet _he _isn't with all those pyreflies, no way. He's rotten. Jus' like all of them. I'm tired of listening to him. I'm tired of listening to all of them. I don' like waiting for the time when it's youse or me that's gonna be nothing but a bunch of pyreflies, Logos..."

"I can't answer your questions anymore than you yourself can..." Logos grew quieter, his voice a whisper, "And for the record...I'm much more than simply tired of their...monstrous behavior. I'm damn near exhausted. And I don't want our deaths to be...so pointless."

The night's silenced enveloped them once more, the rasp of Ormi's movement the only thing interrupting it and keeping them separate from the seemingly peaceful world. Then, as before, out of nowhere-

"I's want's out."

"We've always wanted out," Logos pointed out tiredly and only half listening.

"Yeah, well, if youse weren't injured right now, I'd say that we's should make a break for it right now and leave Yevon and all its dirty work for good."

That was enough to get his full attention. Logos lifted his head as much as his waning power could permit and asked, astounded, "You don't mean that. Surely you don't mean to actually desert-"

"I's means it! I'm sick of doing all this!" Ormi's eyes, gathering the scant light of the peeking moon, flicked toward the gun tower for a split moment, a motion that Logos witnessed, "They's are jus' going tah do the same thing to us one of these days, an' for what?"

Logos opened his mouth, but there was no answer to give.

"As soon as youse see's a doctor an' get all patched up-" Ormi pushed determinedly through the sand, "-Youse and I should find a new job, how about that?"

"I think being too close to Sin has made you lose your mind," Logos replied firmly, "They'll track us down and kill us for sure. We know far too much to put their minds at ease."

"We'll die then."

"Ormi!"

"No!" Ormi's voice boomed loudly through the dismally quiet cove, "We'll fake our deaths somehow, see? Then we'll be free tah go!"

"And how do you suppose you'll do that?" Logos replied acidly, trying to reel in his sanity since, for a brief moment, it ran off excitedly after his beefy friend who was prancing down the looney trail.

"Aw, youse can think of that," Ormi said easily and it seemed he picked up his pace, "Imagine. We's won't have to kill no one no more. And we won't have tah make records of tortured people, or people dying. We'll be free men!"

"To do what?" Logos laid his head back, no strength in his neck, but his face suddenly seemed less strained and his expression was more relaxed, indulgent almost.

"Whatever comes up, does it matter?" Ormi lifted a brow and looked down at his friend. The atmosphere became hopeless as the sound of people walking slowly, the shadows of tents, and the mournful whispers of men and woman came just within hearing distance. But, not around the strange, out of place duo that slowly made their way out of the darkness into the woeful encampment. It was like an imaginary field had risen around them as Ormi walked, carrying his immobile friend, and it was as impenetrable as Sin's own shield. It was like an orb of light peering through the shadows. It went mostly unnoticed, except by those contained in the invisible glow.

Logos smiled and chuckled low in his throat.

"No, I suppose it doesn't."

* * *

**A/N: A lot different than my first one, I know, but I like it better this way (it all stays in Mushroom Rock instead of ending in Bevelle, is a wee bit shorter, and has a more 'cheerier' ending.) And like I said, I don't really think the boys were there. Their characters are just like that you know. I can't see them being involved in the first game's events in even the smallest ways. So, they never get to see the most momentous of events involving Yuna and especially Tidus (though as I wrote this, they really _weren't_ involved so, even in my eyes, its believable, meh)**

**I am pleased with this. Even if doesn't follow all the way through with my specific theory, the way I played this is really close to my theory anyways on how they get to leave Yevon (*wink *wink *nudge *nudge) **

**Nonetheless, I hope you enjoyed. And would be very pleased if you left a review of your thoughts (if you care to share), questions, or things you noticed I need to edit (Curse grammar!) **

**Or just a lovely little comment would be much appreciated.**

**~S.T!**


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